


The Big Game

by Dee_Laundry



Category: House M.D.
Genre: American Football, Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-26
Updated: 2007-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chase and Foreman are invited to watch the game at House's new house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Game

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place several months after the end of Season 2 – assumes Season 3 never happened. : ) Many thanks to [](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/profile)[**daisylily**](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

Chase was walking back from the patient’s room with Foreman when they ran into Cameron by a nurses’ station. She’d spent most of yesterday blabbering about House’s invitation for dinner at his new house last night, but this morning had been hiding from everyone. Chase couldn’t resist the urge to pry and needle.

“How was your date with House?” he asked, trying to keep a straight face. Foreman was openly smirking.

Cameron ducked her head closer to her file, and her jaw tightened. “It wasn’t a date,” she insisted. “Most definitely not.” Chase was puzzled by her vehemence, but didn’t have a chance to ask before House buzzed up.

“Gentlemen!” he cried, as he nudged Chase with his right elbow and clapped Foreman on the shoulder with his left hand. Chase exchanged glances with Foreman over this uncharacteristic heartiness. He wondered if House had gotten hold of cocaine somehow.

“Cameron got to see the new digs, the new _maison_ House last night; it’s your turn tonight. Game starts at eight, and we’re grilling, so be there at seven-thirty. Any earlier, and I won’t answer the door. Any later, and I can’t guarantee there’ll be any food left.”

Foreman ducked away from House’s hand and replied, “I’m busy tonight.”

“No, you’re not,” House retorted and began bouncing his cane like a pogo stick. “I checked.”

Foreman began to look alarmed, and Chase once again had to stifle a smile. “You checked what?” Foreman asked warily.

“I haf my vayz,” replied House, as he leaned over and tugged at Cameron’s file. “The boys deserve the full experience, so don’t you go giving them any previews.”

Her head still low, Cameron yanked the file close to her chest. “My lips are sealed,” she replied. “Permanently, I think.”

Smirking, House stepped away from the desk and turned toward the corridor. “All-day off-site meeting for the department heads today,” he said by way of farewell, “so you won’t be seeing me the rest of the day.”

“You’re actually going to a department head meeting?” Chase asked, confused.

“Hell no,” House called over his shoulder as he sauntered away. “But it gives me a great excuse not to be here!”

* * *

Deciding there was safety in numbers, Chase and Foreman went over to House’s together. They rang the doorbell at exactly 7:32 (Chase checked).

House threw open the door and smirked when he saw them standing together. “Vanilla Ice Cube. So sweet.” He turned abruptly and walked back into the house, leaving the two of them standing there.

Chase, not getting the reference, looked at Foreman quizzically. Foreman just shook his head tightly, his jaw clenched. _Perfect_ , Chase sighed inwardly. _We’re not even in the front door and already Foreman wants to kill him._

They were saved by the arrival of Wilson, carrying a grocery bag that looked to be very heavy. Chase took it from him – it _was_ heavy, and it clinked – and was rewarded with a grateful smile. “Hi, guys. Why is the door open? Did House just leave you out here?” He shook his head and gently pushed past Foreman.

“House! Didn’t we talk about how to treat guests?” Wilson waved them in and gestured toward a coat closet, before heading toward the back of the house.

“I thought you’d be more concerned about carcinogens in over-cooked grilled meat, Dr. Oncologist! Where the hell is the beer?”

As he tried to figure out which way Wilson had gone – it was a pretty big house – Chase heard a murmur of conversation and then a bark from House. “Chase! Bring the beer out here! And it better not be Fosters!”

Foreman rolled his eyes, and the two of them followed the sounds of House’s bellows to a patio just outside the spacious kitchen.

The food and the beer were both surprisingly good, and Chase was almost fully relaxed when they headed toward the family room to watch the game. Foreman took a detour to the bathroom, and House headed off to God knows where, so it was just Chase and Wilson for a few moments. Wilson laughed and dropped casually onto the center of the couch while Chase gaped in awe at the largest television he’d ever seen outside an electronics store.

“Picture quality’s great, too,” Wilson commented as he turned on the set and tuned in the game.

Still slightly agog, Chase sat on the couch and stared at the rich color and fine detail. He could swear that he saw every blade of grass on the football field.

His reverie was broken when House stomped directly into his field of view.

“What are you, gay? What straight man sits directly next to a guy on a couch when there’s a perfectly good recliner available?”

For someone so lean, House sure could block a lot of the screen. Chase muttered, “A straight man who wants a good view of the game.”

House pointed to the chair. “The reason the TV cost six grand is so every view is a good one. Git!”

Chase sighed but moved. Wow, the picture quality really was just as good from that angle. House watched him until he was seated, then plopped down on the now-vacant cushion. Wilson tried to hide a smirk.

Chase knitted his brows and was about to make a crack about straight men when Foreman returned from the bathroom. He took the third seat on the couch just as the Chargers kicked off.

The game was a good one. Chase still thought of Australian rules football as _real_ football, but he had to admit American football had its charms.

Midway through the first quarter, House and Foreman got into a spirited debate on some issue of defensive strategy that Chase couldn’t quite follow. He looked over at Wilson, who just smiled and rolled his eyes dramatically. House caught the expression and thumped Wilson once in the chest, while continuing to defend his argument vehemently. Wilson just rubbed the spot and tilted his head to get a better view of the screen around House’s gesturing arms.

The debate died down of its own accord with, remarkably, no hard feelings on either side. (Chase would not have bet money on a House-Foreman battle of any kind ending amiably.)

They were all chatting and watching the game, and Chase marveled at how easy this seemed. It was odd that just a bigger place to live would make House a decent enough person to hang out with, but Chase thought that seemed to be the case.

Until late in the second quarter, when House reached across Wilson to grab chips from the bowl Foreman had on his lap. It was a quick move but it cut very cleanly through Wilson’s personal space, millimeters from touching Wilson’s chest. And Wilson didn’t flinch. In fact, if anything, he leaned a bit forward.

A small thing, but one Chase was still pondering over when the game hit the two-minute warning.

* * *

The final play of the half was being set up. If the Chargers’ kicker made the forty-five yard field goal, they would take the lead. Chase was as caught up in the excitement as anyone, or so he thought until he took a look at House and Wilson.

The tension off Wilson was almost humming, and House hadn’t looked that eager since Cuddy had hinted that diagnostics might get its own MRI machine.

As the ball sailed through the uprights, House punched a fist into the air. “Yes! Yes!” he shouted, bouncing on the cushion. Wilson had fallen back against the back of the couch, the picture of dejection.

“You lose!” House gloated, with his finger in Wilson’s face.

“There’s no way he should’ve made that kick,” Wilson groaned.

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda; it’s the results that matter. Come on.” House smacked Wilson’s knee and then propelled himself up off the couch and out of the living room.

Chase, along with Foreman, stared at a sheepish Wilson. “I picked the Chiefs,” he explained. “So now – well, never mind, you don’t want to know. We’ll be back before the second half; help yourselves to anything in the kitchen.”

Chase raised an eyebrow at Foreman, who just shook his head until Wilson left the room. “The man says I don’t want to know,” said Foreman, “then I don’t want to know. Let’s just have another beer.”

They drank their beer, watched the cheerleaders jiggle, and listened to the game analysis. All three of the commentators seemed to agree with Wilson that the completion of that field goal by that particular kicker was nothing short of miraculous. No wonder House had smirked so hard.

House and Wilson re-entered the room with only seconds to spare before the second-half kickoff. House was still smirking, per usual, but Wilson’s look was off. He was smiling, but a little flushed, and he kept blinking slowly, as if he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He stopped in front of the couch and stretched.

“Down in front,” House snapped, and yanked on Wilson’s hip to pull him onto the couch. Foreman had to shift away to avoid being squashed, but soon they were all settled and the game was underway again.

There were a lot of turnovers in the third quarter, but Chase found the fumbles and interceptions exciting. He was enjoying himself thoroughly, but something kept niggling at his mind as off, strange. He took a quick look at the couch, but all three men there were engrossed in the game. He looked back at the screen, thinking harder, but it was only when the quarterback shoved his hands toward the center’s knees before the hike that Chase realized what it was.

House’s hand, the one that had grabbed Wilson’s hip, had yet to reappear.

Chase got out of his chair and crossed behind the couch, stopping just behind House. “Where’s the restroom?” he asked.

It was Wilson who answered, twisting slightly out of his seat to gesture down the hall. Chase thanked him and moved on, ignoring House’s commands to shush and trying to add up what he’d just seen. One plus one equals two, two plus two equals four, and House’s hand lying quite comfortably under Wilson’s butt equals what?

He stood in the bathroom for a minute, then flushed and washed his hands. Making up his mind, he went back in the family room and stopped again by the couch. “While I’m up, anybody want a drink?”

“Beer,” House snapped without looking up.

Wilson looked at House and pursed his lips briefly before turning toward Chase. “Would you mind bringing me a water?”

“Foreman?” Chase asked.

Foreman, like House, had his eyes glued to the screen. “A water’d be good,” he said absently.

“Then why don’t you come and help me get them?” Chase replied, grimly aware that he had sounded rather like a woman there. It couldn’t be helped; he really needed to talk his sudden realization over with Foreman.

Foreman looked up at him, mouth open as if to protest, but apparently he saw something in Chase’s eyes, because he hauled himself up and followed Chase to the kitchen.

“Have you noticed something different about House and Wilson tonight?” Chase whispered, with one hand on the refrigerator handle.

“No,” Foreman replied in a normal tone of voice, pissing Chase off.

Chase yanked the door open with slightly more force than necessary. “They’re… _close_ with each other,” he whispered.

Foreman pushed past Chase and grabbed two bottles of water. “They’re always close.”

“But more tonight,” Chase insisted, as he pulled out a beer each for House and himself. “I saw –”

Chase was cut off by House’s yell. “Are you two making out in there? Can I watch?”

“That kind of crack doesn’t seem _strange_?” Chase whispered furiously.

Even with a water bottle in each hand, Foreman with his arms crossed still looked imposing. “House always makes comments like that. Remember when that one patient’s fever spiked and he asked about your short-shorts? It’s nothing.” Foreman turned and walked out, and Chase could only follow.

* * *

The evening went fast after that. The teams settled down and scored some touchdowns, and in the end it was a Chiefs victory, thirty-five to twenty-eight. Chase expected Wilson to return House’s gloat from earlier, but it turned out that House and Wilson had only bet on the first half of the game.

All in all, an enjoyable if odd night at the House of House. Chase wondered as he shrugged into his coat if they might get asked back again, or if maybe he, Foreman, and Cameron should invite House out for a drink some time. Yeah, and maybe they’d have department outings and birthday parties and House would suddenly start giving a damn about morale. Chase snorted lightly at himself.

As he and Foreman stepped down the walkway toward Foreman’s car, House and Wilson were framed by the light emanating from the house. “Drive safely, sweetie darlings,” House called out. “Chase, don’t grope Foreman while he’s driving – too distracting!”

Wilson then spoke in a low tone, but Chase caught it. “You need to practice what you preach.” Chase looked back just in time to see House lock lips with Wilson before the door closed.

Eyes wide, he turned to Foreman, who was staring at the closed door and shaking his head. “I don’t care,” Foreman said firmly, not looking at Chase. “What House wants to do in his own place is his own business.”

“I agree but –”

Foreman cut him off. “Not talking about this. Not tonight, not ever. As far as anyone’s concerned, we watched a football game with House and Wilson and that’s it. We didn’t see House grabbing Wilson’s ass –”

“You saw that too?”

“– for twenty goddamn minutes straight, and we did _not_ see Wilson post-orgasm.”

“Post-what?” Chase was bewildered. “When?”

“Exactly,” said Foreman, with one short, firm nod. He then stalked off to his car.

When Chase got in the car, Foreman began a complete dissection of the football game that lasted until he dropped Chase off.

The subject was clearly closed.

* * *

Chase tried to follow Foreman’s example over the next few days. He was very successful in this endeavor around House, who was every bit the bastard they had always known.

On the occasions he saw Wilson, however, Chase felt himself getting flustered. Before, the only people Chase had ever seen immediately after an orgasm were ones to whom he’d given that orgasm. He knew he should just act as if nothing was different, but he was finding that difficult to do.

He realized that Cameron must now know about House and Wilson’s new relationship – although, thinking about it, he actually had no clue whether it was new or not – given that she’d had dinner at his, or more likely, _their_ house. But she was still refusing to talk about that evening at all. Chase wondered if she’d seen even more than he had, or if it was jealousy and wounded pride. Either way, she wasn’t going to be a sounding board for him.

There was only one person he could talk to.

He poked his head into Wilson’s office late in the afternoon. “Could I have five, maybe ten minutes of your time?”

Wilson glanced at his monitor, and then down at the papers on his desk. “Sure,” he said, neatly stacking a few files. “Come on in.”

Chase carefully shut the door behind him before taking a seat on Wilson’s couch. It was a low couch and he felt small, but perhaps it would be easier for Wilson if he had a little height on Chase. Small sacrifice to make if Chase could regain his confidence around the head of oncology.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” Chase began, “but I saw you kissing House the other night.”

Wilson smiled and sat back in his chair. “Yes. You were meant to. I wanted to just flat out tell you guys that we’re together, but House… Sometimes things work better if I let him amuse himself.” He chuckled. “At least you got dinner and a few beers out of it. Hope it wasn’t too horrifying.”

Embarrassed, Chase protested, “No, no, nothing like that. I was… surprised, but it’s all good. If you’re happy, I’m happy. And House – well, if he’s even a little bit less miserable, then with any luck it’ll trickle down to those of us who work for him.” He returned Wilson’s smile.

“I can’t promise you that, but I will tell you that I do my best to make him happy. And he, in a very ass-backwards way, makes me happy.”

“Good,” Chase replied. He took a deep breath before continuing, “There’s just one more thing I want to ask, if you don’t mind.”

Wilson leaned forward and spread his hands encouragingly. “Go ahead.”

“The bet you and House made about the game.”

“Yes,” Wilson said questioningly, drawing the word out.

Chase screwed up his courage. They hadn’t been that discreet; surely they’d have to expect a question or two. “You lost the bet, but when the two of you came back, you were the one who looked, um, happy.”

Wilson laughed heartily. “Yes, I was. Are you sure you want to hear this? Are you sure you want to know?”

Chase nodded. “It just seems odd.”

Folding his arms, Wilson leaned back in his chair. “If you’re sure you want to know, then here it is. House and I have always bet on the first half of games. Just a tradition, not even sure why we started doing it that way. Since we got together, we still bet on the first half, but the stakes have changed.”

He looked at Chase, as if for confirmation that he should continue. Chase put on his most encouraging face.

“Winner has to give the other guy an orgasm during half-time.”

Chase was startled, not that they’d wager sex – a very guy thing to do – but that the reward was set that way. “So the loser gets the orgasm?”

Wilson smirked and looked past Chase, out onto his balcony. “Loser gets the _half-time_ orgasm, which has to get accomplished within fifteen minutes. Winner gets the post-game orgasm, which can be built up to over a much longer period of time.”

“I see,” Chase replied, and he did. It was ingenious, and Chase started wondering if he could talk his new girlfriend into a similar bet.


End file.
